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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27219796">here everyone knows (you're the way to my heart)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bambirouge/pseuds/bambirouge'>bambirouge</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCT (Band), SuperM (Korea Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(mostly), Ghosts, Los Angeles, M/M, Musicians, One-Sided Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee, Substance Abuse (Mentioned), Summer, Supernatural Elements, inspired by phoebe bridgers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:08:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,062</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27219796</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bambirouge/pseuds/bambirouge</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why are you so obsessed with him?” Mark had once asked when they got tipsy after school and sat on his back porch.</p><p>Mark didn’t know what he was asking. And Donghyuck couldn’t explain that he felt close to Johnny in all the ways he wanted to be with Mark—that the only way he could bear to watch Mark crush on girls and still walk home with him was because Johnny was there in his headphones, laying bare those parts of himself that Donghyuck saw in his own reflection.</p><p>“You wouldn’t understand,” Donghyuck had answered, because Mark’s graduation was drawing near and he was trying to get used to the distance. Mark had gone quiet after that.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Suh Youngho | Johnny</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>141</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi :0</p><p>finally, after weeks of shouting about this on twitter, i'm releasing it into the wild! thanks to shark, erika, mel, sneaky, rye, and everyone else who patiently listened to my yammering &lt;3 ily</p><p>based on (and title pulled from) the song "punisher" by phoebe bridgers!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If you ask Donghyuck where he was when he heard that Johnny Suh had died, he could give you two separate answers.</p><p>The first, his physical location, is on the corner across from Mark’s house, where he’d stumbled out of after spending the night recording half-verses and hooks. It was an accident, really, when he swiped to his personalized news feed from the home screen of his phone; but suddenly the headline was right in his face and he stopped short with one foot in the street.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Los Angeles songwriter Johnny Suh killed in ‘devastating’ car crash</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em>September 12th, 2019 </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Beloved Los Angeles-based singer Johnny Suh’s record label</em>
</p><p>
  <em>has confirmed his death due to a head-on collision on Inter-</em>
</p><p><em>state 5, </em> <em>which happened around 2 a.m. early Sunday morning.</em></p><p><em>The Los Angeles County </em> <em>Office of Public Safety also reported</em></p><p><em>that the driver and passenger of the </em> <em>other car had been killed,</em></p><p>
  <em>as both vehicles burst into flames upon impact... </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It took twenty seconds for Donghyuck to move again, thirty before he started to feel sick, and forty-five before he turned around, inhaling the beginnings of a sob, and ran back to Mark’s porch. He couldn’t even get the words out when Mark asked him in his sleep-voice what the hell was wrong, he just handed over his phone and clutched at the edge of his ribs. He doesn’t remember what Mark said as he read the article, but he held Donghyuck for a long time afterward, swaying him in the middle of the rug that Donghyuck gifted him when he moved out.</p><p>Mark is the only person who <em> really </em> knows what Johnny means to him, and Donghyuck can’t decide if that made the whole thing better or so, so much worse.</p><p>The second answer Donghyuck could give you is his childhood bedroom, the night before his first day of freshman year. He and Mark were fighting—Donghyuck had let it slip the week before that he had feelings for him, that he’d <em>had</em> <em>feelings for him for a whole year, Mark, you really must be a fucking idiot</em>—and Donghyuck felt like he wanted to run away somewhere, or change his whole identity, or simply cease to exist. He found the song on a playlist after searching “unrequited love” on Spotify, and when Johnny Suh’s soft voice delivered the first lyric into the rose-colored stillness of Donghyuck’s room, everything fell away.</p><p>Two answers to the same question, happening at the same time. On September 12th, 2019, Donghyuck is split into two moments; one foot in the street and the other in his bedroom, when he’s fourteen, heart breaking because he knows he won’t get to experience something this life-altering for the first time again.</p><p>It’s been three years since Johnny Suh died. Donghyuck’s stomach still constricts, sometimes, when he remembers.</p><p>“You getting anything?”</p><p>Mark’s voice is too loud for two in the morning, three bags of gummy worms in his hands as he comes into view at the end of the aisle. Donghyuck blinks when he realizes he’s been staring at a box of red hair dye for at least three minutes.</p><p>“Uh...” He looks around the aisle, not entirely sure how he got there. “Nah, I think I’m good.”</p><p>“‘Aight. Come on, then.”</p><p>Donghyuck follows Mark to the register, where the checkout girl flirts with him as he turns red at the ears.</p><p>“God, Mark,” Donghyuck scoffs as they exit the store. “Sometimes even <em> I </em> get pissed that you’re still single. What a waste.”</p><p>“I’ve told you a hundred times, I don’t have time for that shit.” Mark rips open one of the bags, swearing when he drops a few gummy worms on the pavement. “Even if I did—”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re saving yourself for Phoebe Bridgers when you inevitably catapult into local fame.”</p><p>Mark rolls his eyes, opens the driver’s side door. “Shut <em> up.” </em></p><p>The drive up to the hills is quiet like it usually is, Soccer Mommy serenading them about Allison and her sword all the way to the spot they’ve been coming to since high school. It’s a post-writing ritual, and today’s session was a hard one.</p><p>“Ugh,” Mark says when they pull off to the side of the road. Donghyuck already knows what he’s thinking but he asks anyway.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Mark shakes his head. Donghyuck can see the doubt pressing down on him, can smell it like smoke filling up the car.</p><p>“Just frustrated.”</p><p>“You can’t write good shit every day.”</p><p>“Yeah, but if we’re gonna start playing all these open mics again, we <em> need </em> some new material.” He scrubs at his eyes. “Why was it so hard today?”</p><p>“Have you considered the fact that we both haven’t slept in, like, 48 hours?”</p><p>Mark avoids his eyes.</p><p>“Mark.”</p><p>He peers at Donghyuck but doesn’t move his head. Donghyuck sighs.</p><p>“I heard you talking to Taeyong yesterday.”</p><p>Donghyuck hears Mark flat out stop breathing, hears the rustle of fabric as he presses a hand just above his stomach. He only does that when he’s freaking the fuck out.</p><p>“I—what did you hear?”</p><p>“The part about you signing. Alone.”</p><p>He’s been dreading this moment all day, but the look on Mark’s face when he meets Donghyuck’s eyes makes him feel like he’s been gutted.</p><p>“Hyuck, I’m so sorry. I swear, I was gonna talk to you about it—and I haven’t agreed to anything yet, I haven’t even had time to think about any of it—I just—”</p><p>“It’s fine.”</p><p>Obviously, it’s not. Donghyuck and Mark both know that. Donghyuck clears his throat.</p><p>“I’ve been working on some solo stuff too lately. Maybe we should take a break.”</p><p>Mark stares at him. “Wh-wha—what do you mean?”</p><p>“Just...” Donghyuck shrugs. “It’s been a while since we’ve really put time into our own careers. It seems like your solo work is taking off and I don’t want to, like, hold you back.”</p><p>“Donghyuck.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Are you kidding?”</p><p>“What would I be kidding about?”</p><p>Mark makes a frustrated noise. “Your career is my career. It’s been that way since we were teenagers, why would that change now?”</p><p>“Because you have an opportunity to actually <em> do </em> something?” Donghyuck heaves a sigh. “Look, sure, I’m not fucking thrilled that Taeyong didn’t tell me about the offer. Whatever. Mark, this is what you’ve been dreaming of since <em> middle school. </em> You can’t tell me you’re not at least considering it.”</p><p>Mark shakes his head. “I can’t do that to you.”</p><p>“Mark.” Donghyuck leans across the console, taking Mark’s face in both of his hands. “Don’t be stupid.”</p><p>Mark’s eyes are shiny, but he smiles. He laughs wetly and pushes Donghyuck’s hands away.</p><p>“You’re insane,” he says. “I can’t. I can’t do it.”</p><p>“Please think about it.”</p><p>Mark looks at him in that way that made Donghyuck fall in love with him the first time around, that way that made Donghyuck think he loved him back. It’s a wide-open look, a look that says, <em> fuck, I can’t believe I get to be here sitting next to you right now. </em> For a brief second Donghyuck regrets their entire conversation.</p><p>Mark takes a deep breath and looks at his hands. “Maybe.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>“<em>Maybe </em>I’ll think about it.”</p><p>“You should.”</p><p>Mark’s smirk is long-suffering now, making the corner of his mouth twitch as he rolls his eyes. It’s always been like this between them; a game of ping-pong played by sincerity and annoyance. Donghyuck watches as Mark looks out the window.</p><p>“Do you wanna look at the city?”</p><p>Donghyuck nods. "Yeah."</p><p>The wind is feeling playful tonight, and it messes up Donghyuck’s hair all the way to the edge of the shoulder of the road where he can look out over the valley. He and Mark stand side by side, Mark with his hands in his pockets, as the tiny lights wave at them from a sea of high hopes.</p><p>“You’re the best friend I could ever have, you know,” Mark tells him. “For real.”</p><p>Donghyuck is sure that if he says much he’ll start crying, so he sticks with what both he and Mark are used to.</p><p>“Yeah, I know.”</p><p> </p><p>///</p><p> </p><p>“Dude,” Yangyang says as he bounces over, holding up a pair of shiny pleather pants. “I dare you to try these on.”</p><p>“Oh, don’t. He’ll look amazing in them and make all of us feel bad about ourselves.” Renjun is flicking through the racks across from Donghyuck, laser-focused. Donghyuck brings a dramatic hand to his chest, opening and closing his mouth in a mock sputter.</p><p>“Was that a <em> compliment? </em> From our Renjun Huang?”</p><p>“Eat a dick.”</p><p>“Maybe <em> I </em> should try them on,” Yangyang murmurs to himself.</p><p>“You should <em> both </em> try them on,” Jaemin says as he approaches with an entire wardrobe hanging from each arm. “Actually, you should all try them on. Junnie, your butt would look great in those.”</p><p>Yangyang snickers. “What butt?”</p><p>The group explodes into laughter, and Renjun seethes as he throws a few pairs of vintage denim over his shoulder.</p><p>“Jail. All of you. I’m heading to the changing room before I commit homicide.”</p><p>“Yo, wait up!” Yangyang trails after him with the offending pair of pants still in hand.</p><p>Donghyuck watches his friends retreat down the aisle, something fond that he keeps closely guarded sending a curl of warmth around his heart. He’d been right about Yangyang since the beginning; even though he hadn’t been there to weather what Jaemin affectionately referred to as Performing Arts High School Hell with the rest of them, he fits into a space in the group Donghyuck hadn’t even noticed was there.</p><p>“Find anything?” Jaemin asks Donghyuck as he consolidates his conquests to one arm. Donghyuck shakes his head.</p><p>“Nah, I’m broke as hell anyway. I’m just here for moral support.”</p><p>“What, being a professional musician isn’t getting you fat stacks?”</p><p>Donghyuck gives him a look. “I don’t see you rolling in dough, Mister Hollywood Actor.”</p><p>
  <em> “Guys!” </em>
</p><p>Donghyuck turns to see Yangyang sliding down the aisle in his socks, one long leg braced in front of the other. He looks...</p><p>“Wow.” Jaemin sounds hypnotized, and Donghyuck watches him swallow as his eyes climb up the length of Yangyang’s figure. Yangyang does a spin, then runs through a catalogue of model poses that should be ridiculous but somehow manage to look sexy.</p><p>“Don’t I look incredible?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Donghyuck replies, giggling at the way Jaemin can’t seem to stop nodding, as if trying to cover up his sudden inability to speak. “You do.”</p><p>Renjun meets them at the register with a pair of jeans, and Jaemin decides to leave most of his clothing mountain behind. Yangyang, of course, gets the pants; while he’s being rung up, something catches Donghyuck’s eye.</p><p>He wanders away from the group to a rack of jackets, a familiar shade of brown sticking out from the rest. It makes a strange feeling settle in the pit of his stomach, like swallowing an ice cube, or missing the last step on a staircase. He reaches out to touch it.</p><p>“Hyuck?” Renjun says from behind him. “We’re heading out, you good?”</p><p>Donghyuck pulls out the sleeve, then grabs the hanger the jacket is hanging on. It’s corduroy with sherpa lining, and <em> big </em>, probably two sizes too large for him. But his heart is pounding like he’s on the edge of a cliff, and something like static crackles at his fingers when he runs them along the collar of the jacket, and the words are tumbling out of his mouth before he even knows what he’s saying.</p><p>“I have to buy this jacket.”</p><p>Renjun looks at him sideways, one eyebrow raised. “Uh, okay. We’ll be outside.”</p><p>Donghyuck can’t keep his eyes off of it the entire time he’s being checked out, mumbling a distracted <em> thank you </em> to the cashier before pulling the jacket close to his chest and leaving the store. He can’t put his finger on the feeling that zips through him when his skin comes into contact with the thick grooves of the material, but it’s addictive; he feels a little drunk on the low hum that rises in his ears.</p><p>“...gonna head to Jeno’s place. Hyuck? Are you coming?”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>Yangyang chuckles. “You okay, man?”</p><p>“Ah, yeah.” Donghyuck blinks hard but the feeling remains. “Just, y’know. Remembering all of the very important adult responsibilities I am currently ignoring.”</p><p>“Does that mean you’re not coming to Jeno’s?” Jaemin asks. Donghyuck shakes his head.</p><p>“I should get home. Give him a smooch for me, though.”</p><p>“Will do, mildew.”</p><p>Donghyuck bids goodbye to his friends and hops on the bus, floating farther and farther out of his body with each passing minute. He puts his headphones on as the city smears by like a ruined painting, fingers scrolling absently to Johnny Suh’s first album. He always ends up back here.</p><p>Donghyuck didn’t lose his virginity to a Johnny Suh song, but he listened to one after.</p><p>It was with some guy he met at a basement show, a punk who was a lot older than he was. That was the year that Donghyuck started saying yes with abandon—Mark had graduated and without seeing him every day Donghyuck felt untethered, out of control. He got in over his head fast, and suddenly he was in this man’s bed in his apartment that he lived in by himself; Donghyuck remembers looking at the drawings on the wall and thinking that his mother would have a conniption if he ever did that.</p><p>Afterward, Donghyuck made up some excuse about homework and left. He sat on the bus and felt the tears in his stomach long before they welled up in his eyes, making his vision go blurry and distorted; he reached for <em> Nocturnal </em> then, just as he reaches for it now.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> And it starts at four a.m. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> When you stumble home and you’re with him </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’m alone on my side of the bed </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Trying to block out your face when you said </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You were sorry I got my heart broken </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And for a player, I couldn’t be beat </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But I couldn’t stop searching your kerosene eyes </em>
</p><p>
  <em> For a sign of some kind of relief </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Yeah, it’s the one thing that I never should’ve doubted </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I miss wanting you and having nothing to do about it </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The song is like a salve, Johnny’s breathy vocals ghosting their fingers over Donghyuck’s spine. The jacket, still sitting in Donghyuck’s lap, seems to almost grow heavier as the music plays on; Donghyuck tightens his grip on the fabric and all at once a wave of dizziness overtakes him.</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>When was the last time he ate? No, he had breakfast this morning. He <em> can’t </em> be getting sick, not when festival season is about to start, especially now that—</p><p>Right. He and Mark probably won’t be playing all those open mics. There’s a stab of something sharp and hot and painful in Donghyuck’s gut, and it shakes him out of his trance enough to realize that he’s just missed his stop.</p><p>He trips off of the bus like he’s wasted in broad daylight, barely able to remember the way home. There’s something pressing in on him from all sides—it’s cold in contrast with the early summer heat that licks at his heels, dissonant and disorienting. He’s still got his headphones on as he trudges home and the <em> feeling </em> of Johnny is everywhere; he hasn’t felt like this since senior year, right before Johnny died.</p><p>It’s suffocating, but familiar.</p><p>“Why are you so obsessed with him?” Mark had once asked when they got tipsy after school and sat on his back porch.</p><p>“Are you kidding?” Donghyuck replied. “It’s, like...everything. The way he talks about his experiences, it’s just so <em>real.</em> <em>He’s</em> so real. I feel like he has this way of sharpening all his feelings down so they’re, like, the perfectly distilled pictures of really complex emotions.”</p><p>Mark laughed at him. “Yeah, yeah, I know he’s a good writer. I just meant, like, him. As a person.”</p><p>And that great, yearning thing in Donghyuck’s stomach had wiggled, once for the shimmer of something like jealousy in Mark’s eyes and twice at the memory of how Johnny looked onstage. How his voice had sounded when he leaned away from the mic and shouted into the crowd.</p><p>Mark didn’t know what he was asking. And Donghyuck couldn’t explain that he felt close to Johnny in all the ways he wanted to be with Mark—that the only way he could bear to watch Mark crush on girls and still walk home with him was because Johnny was there in his headphones, laying bare those parts of himself that Donghyuck saw in his own reflection.</p><p>“You wouldn’t understand,” Donghyuck had answered, because Mark’s graduation was drawing near and he was trying to get used to the distance. Mark had gone quiet after that.</p><p>Donghyuck’s head swims as it all comes rushing back; the teenage ache in his chest when he watched a new interview, the feeling of endless wings beating in his stomach when dates for a local show were announced. Somehow, the jacket in his hands makes it stronger, like an amplifier for all of these momentous emotions Donghyuck has managed to bury since Johnny’s passing. It’s overwhelming.</p><p>He nearly collapses when he walks into his apartment. The cold feeling is permeating his skin, now, and with every step toward his bed he curls in on himself a little more. There really must be something wrong—he must be sick, maybe even sick enough to go to the emergency room—but before he can contemplate picking up the phone, he’s dropping into unconsciousness.</p><p>When he wakes up, the feeling is gone.</p><p> </p><p>///</p><p> </p><p>“So it’s true? You guys are breaking up?”</p><p>Renjun’s choice of words feels like a slap to the face, but Donghyuck resolutely ignores it. He shrugs.</p><p>“I dunno. Maybe. Maybe it would be a good thing.”</p><p>Renjun eyes him over his mug of tea. They’re in between episodes of <em> Stranger Things </em> despite it being late May, sprawled out on Renjun and Jaemin’s couch as the faint sound of one of Jaemin’s lo-fi hip hop mixes drifts from his bedroom.</p><p>“And you’d be okay with just giving up the band like that?”</p><p>Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’d be fine. It’s not like I can’t write without him anymore or anything.”</p><p>“But it’s still kind of a big deal. I mean, it’s <em> you and Mark. </em>You two are usually attached at the hip.”</p><p>“No, we’re not.”</p><p>“What are you talking about? Of course you are.”</p><p>“We’re not anymore.”</p><p><em> “ </em> Uh, <em> yes, </em> you <em> are.” </em>Renjun puts his tea on the coffee table. “You spend almost every spare minute together, and you have since I met you. Hyuck, you don’t have to act like this doesn’t mean anything to you. I’m sure Mark's upset about it too.”</p><p>“I don’t—” Donghyuck squeezes his eyes shut. “I really don’t want to hear any of this right now, okay? I’ve got enough on my plate with trying to scrape some money together for this EP, plus tracking down, like, four different bands who said they’d do shows with us, all on top of, y’know, the fact that I have to figure out how the fuck to promote myself as a solo artist now. I couldn’t care less if Mark is upset.”</p><p>“Except you know he is, and you do.”</p><p>Donghyuck hates when Renjun does this. He’s always been stubborn. Usually, Donghyuck is stubborn right back, but tonight he just feels tired.</p><p>“Look,” Renjun says. “If you don’t want to talk about it, fine. Just...don’t let this ruin your relationship with Mark. I think you’d really regret that.”</p><p>Donghyuck takes a deep breath and looks up at the ceiling, pushing down the lump in his throat. “Can we please just start the next episode?”</p><p>There’s a moment of silence before he hears Renjun sigh and start digging for the remote between the couch cushions.</p><p>“Yeah. We can.”</p><p>Donghyuck looks at the ceiling for another five minutes, but he gives up when his cheeks end up wet anyway. Renjun doesn’t say anything else. When the episode is over he gets up to go to the bathroom and comes back with tissues.</p><p>“Thanks,” Donghyuck mumbles.</p><p>“No prob,” Renjun replies.</p><p>Donghyuck falls asleep on the couch like that, sticky and a little gross from how hot it is in the apartment. When he wakes up, the sky is dark and Jaemin is monologuing in the kitchen about the “vibes” between him and Yangyang lately; Renjun watches him from the sofa with half amusement and half exhaustion.</p><p>“—keeps FaceTiming me for no reason. Just to say hi. And then we talk for two hours—isn’t that weird?”</p><p>“Jaem, you and Jeno do that, like, every other day.”</p><p>“That’s different.”</p><p>“How is it different?”</p><p>“It’s <em> Jeno.” </em> Jaemin catches Donghyuck’s eye as he goes to speak. “Oh, Hyuck’s awake.”</p><p>“Hi,” Donghyuck says, voice scratchy. “What’d I miss?”</p><p>“Just the assembly scene,” Renjun replies. “Not much else. I turned it off after you fell asleep.”</p><p>Jaemin braces his hands on the counter. “Also, Yangyang is giving me <em> vibes.” </em></p><p>“I heard.” Donghyuck rubs at his eyes and sits up fully on the couch. “What time is it?”</p><p>“Eightish.” Renjun checks his phone. “Eight sixteen, to be exact.”</p><p>“Mmh.”</p><p>Jaemin pulls his keys from his back pocket and swings them around his index finger. “Do you need a ride home?”</p><p>“That would be very kind of you, Mister Na.”</p><p>He bids goodbye to Renjun and hops in Jaemin’s car, which is, in contrast to his bedroom, pristine. Jaemin’s tapping on the wheel lulls him into a state of limbo, and he floats in the spaces between molecules as they cut through the night.</p><p>“Did Renjun already give you the Talk?” Jaemin asks as they near Donghyuck’s apartment. Donghyuck groans.</p><p>“Yes, we’re putting the band on hold. Yes, it was my idea. No, I’m not wallowing in a pit of despair, contrary to popular belief. It’s not a breakup, stop taking care of me.”</p><p>“It kind of is.”</p><p>“Don’t,” Donghyuck snaps. “Don’t do that.”</p><p>He can feel Jaemin looking at him but he doesn’t give him the satisfaction of looking back.</p><p>“Okay,” Jaemin says, and then, “we’re here.”</p><p>He thanks Jaemin for the ride and drags himself up three flights of stairs, fumbling with the keys a few times before he’s unable to unlock his door. It’s dark, and he reaches blindly for the overhead switch before toeing his shoes off and throwing them in the direction of the shoe rack.</p><p>He almost doesn’t notice it.</p><p>His eyes are half-shut, and the lights are dim, and it could’ve easily blended into the brown of Donghyuck’s sofa without him giving it a second glance. But he does look twice when he sees the mismatched fabric, pausing on his way to the closet.</p><p>It’s the jacket.</p><p>Donghyuck stops completely now, frozen in place. The jacket is thrown over the cushions of his couch, haphazardly like he could’ve been the one who left it there. But it’s been two days since he bought it and he hasn’t worn it once, too spooked by what happened when he last touched it. It should be in his closet along with his other coats, but here it is. On the couch.</p><p>Suddenly, Donghyuck’s apartment doesn’t feel so empty.</p><p>There’s a kind of terror climbing up Donghyuck’s throat that he’s never felt before, something base and primal and very, very urgent. He can’t bring himself to move as he looks at the coat lying innocently across the sofa, trying to catalogue all the places an intruder could be hiding in his tiny studio if they were still here—except, the door was locked, and there’s no sign of a break-in, and Donghyuck’s laptop is sitting right there on his bed, untouched.</p><p>“Is anyone there?” he says, on instinct, then immediately curses himself for being stupid. There’s no one in his apartment. There’s no one here.</p><p>It happens fast—Donghyuck hears something fall in the bathroom and suddenly he’s whipping around, his entire body trembling. Blurriness is starting to creep in at his peripheral and his breath is coming shallow and fast. He grabs the metal watering can from a nearby shelf and holds it in front of himself as he edges toward the bathroom.</p><p>“I have a knife,” he calls out, the lie making his voice shake. There’s no answer. Cautiously, he flips the light switch outside the bathroom door, looking directly into the mirror to find—</p><p>Lips. Brown eyes and a chin with a five o’clock shadow; thick eyebrows, a wide jaw. Johnny Suh looks tired but he’s just as gorgeous as Donghyuck remembers him from the few times he’d caught him in person, albeit a shade or two paler. Johnny opens his mouth as if to speak but instead of sound there’s a cool breeze just above Donghyuck’s left ear.</p><p><em> Wow, </em> Donghyuck thinks as his knees give out, <em> he’s even taller than I remember.</em></p><p> </p><p>///</p><p> </p><p>Donghyuck doesn’t know how long he’s out for but when he comes to, the back of his head aches. He feels like he’s floating, and his stomach fizzes with the same sensation that came over him when he touched the jacket for the first time.</p><p>He props himself up on one elbow to rub at the tender spot near the base of his skull, woozy as he takes stock of the bathroom. His toothpaste is on the floor, which must be what he heard when—</p><p>Donghyuck stops. The memory of Johnny’s eyes burns in the hollow of his throat and he feels his breath stutter before catching. He must be hallucinating. Either that or he’s dreaming right now and he’ll wake up any moment, tangled in his sheets. He waits a few seconds, just to be sure. He doesn’t wake up.</p><p>“Hello?”</p><p>It’s silent still but after a moment there’s a cold feeling that glides past Donghyuck, moving toward the sink.</p><p>“Is someone there?” he asks, more of a whisper. He watches, pulse hammering, as the faucet slowly turns on.</p><p>Donghyuck stares at the sink with his heart in his throat, one hand coming up to clutch at his chest. He’s hallucinating for sure, he should be calling 911 or his mom or <em> someone, </em> anyone; he can’t actually be seeing what he’s seeing.</p><p>The faucet turns off again, just as deliberate.</p><p>Donghyuck runs.</p><p>Spots swim in his vision as his feet hit the pavement, the dark of the night wrapping around him like a disorienting cloak. He’s too frozen with fear to surrender fully to the sobs building up in his chest but tears drip from his chin all the same; he hiccups when his foot catches on the sidewalk and before he can stop himself he’s tumbling to the ground.</p><p>When he reaches Mark’s house, he’s an absolute sight. His face is glistening with tears and his eyes are puffy and bloodshot; there’s a deep crimson stain blooming on his right sock from where a trickle of blood has dripped down from his knee. However, it’s not Mark who opens the door but Jongin, one of Mark’s roommates—he looks Donghyuck up and down and Donghyuck’s stomach sinks at the flash of judgement that flies over his face.</p><p>“Everything okay?” he asks all the same, bless him. Donghyuck can’t stop his whole body from shaking but he manages to speak.</p><p>“Is Mark here?”</p><p>“Uh...” Jongin presses his lips together as he looks back into the house. “Yeah, but I think he’s...he’s kind of, um...”</p><p>And someone up there must have it out for him, because the moment Donghyuck follows Jongin’s line of vision to the staircase, a well-manicured foot appears at the top of it, then a leg, then a torso. The girl from the convenience store stands at the top of the stairs in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and what Donghyuck immediately recognizes as Mark’s Warped Tour t-shirt, hair in a messy tangle on top of her head and makeup long melted away.</p><p>“...Yeah,” Jongin says awkwardly, but Donghyuck is already turning on his heel and letting his feet carry him down the porch steps. He feels sick like he did that day he read the headline, but a different kind of sick, one that swirls like shame in his belly. He hears commotion from the house and then someone calling his name but he doesn’t stop, he doesn’t think he could stop for anything, not even—</p><p>
  <em> “Donghyuck!” </em>
</p><p>Donghyuck slows, a reflex. It allows Mark enough time to catch up to him and place a warm hand on his shoulder.</p><p>“Hyuck, what—”</p><p>It’s even worse to see him like this, to trace the line of hickeys that descends beyond the collar of his shirt. He’s flushed and beautiful and Donghyuck loves him so much it <em> hurts. </em></p><p>“—Jongin told me you showed up looking like shit, and—Jesus, fuck—are you okay? What happened?”</p><p>Donghyuck just looks at him, open-mouthed and bleary-eyed. He shakes his head, shrugs.</p><p>“Nothing. I’m fine.”</p><p>Mark’s mouth presses into an angry line and some disgusting, self-loathing part of Donghyuck <em> sings. </em></p><p>“Shut up, you’re clearly not. Why the fuck do you look like you just ran all the way here? I haven’t seen you like this in a long time, Hyuck, you’re scaring me—”</p><p>“Just leave. Just go. You obviously have company.”</p><p>“Oh, don’t you fucking dare—”</p><p>“—What, Mark? Don’t what? Don’t leave you alone? That’s rich considering I haven’t heard from you once since we agreed to take a break.”</p><p>“I—that was your idea!”</p><p>“I meant a break from the band, not from each other!”</p><p>Mark shuts his eyes, shaking his head in confusion. “Where the fuck is all this coming from? I just—are you hurt? Did someone hurt you?”</p><p>Donghyuck lets his own eyes slide shut, a fresh wave of tears rising to the surface. He shakes his head once.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>He hears Mark heave a sigh, and when he opens his eyes again Mark is rubbing at his forehead.</p><p>“Then why are you here?”</p><p>One summer, when Donghyuck was sixteen, he developed a habit of waking up in the middle of the night. Maybe it started when he watched <em> The Exorcist </em> and was awoken by nightmares to the sound of his own pounding pulse, but over time the dreams faded and his body still ripped itself from unconsciousness long before the sun was due to rise. At first, he lied there by himself in the dark, willing his eyelids to become heavy again. After a few days, he’d get up and sprint around the block in hopes that the exercise would make him tired. By the time a week had gone by, he ended up at Mark’s door at two in the morning, exhausted and fed up and lonely; Mark had answered the door quietly with that squinty middle-of-the-night look soft on his features.</p><p>“What’s up?” he asked, gravelly and secretive. “What are you doing here?”</p><p>“Can’t sleep,” Donghyuck had replied. “Sorry. I don’t have a good reason.”</p><p>Mark smiled then. It was gentle and boyish and Donghyuck barely suppressed an enchanted sigh.</p><p>“You don’t need a good reason,” Mark said, and opened the door wider so Donghyuck could go in.</p><p>Donghyuck looks at that same face now, more handsome than boyish, the residue of that awful question sticking to the corners of his mouth, and he hates his teenage self for constantly longing for more than what was already right in front of him.</p><p>“No reason,” he says. “Sorry. I’m gonna go now.”</p><p>He turns to leave and Mark doesn’t stop him this time. There’s no commotion behind him, just the sound of Donghyuck’s feet shuffling along the sidewalk as he begins on the long way home.</p><p> </p><p>///</p><p> </p><p>When he reaches his apartment, it must be the middle of the night. Donghyuck’s feet ache and he slides down to the floor when he locks the door behind him; he feels hollowed out from the inside and holds onto that numbness for all its worth.</p><p>“All right,” he says to his empty apartment, “if there really is a ghost in here, all I ask is that you don’t scare the shit out of me like that again.”</p><p>He hears a soft <em> clank </em> from over by the kitchenette and startles, grumbling as he rubs a hand over his chest.</p><p>“What did I <em>just</em> say?”</p><p>There’s a strange, faint warbling noise that seems to come from nowhere and all corners of the room at the same time, almost like laughter. Something parallel to fear sparks in Donghyuck’s gut at the sound of it—<em> excitement, </em> Donghyuck realizes with great surprise.</p><p>Two taps on the window across from Donghyuck get his attention, and he watches as a foggy spot appears on it; quickly, before the fog disappears, two words are written in rounded handwriting:</p><p>
  <em> You okay? </em>
</p><p>Donghyuck’s mouth twitches. Laughter starts low in his stomach, but it soon creeps its way up his throat and out of his mouth; he giggles, then wheezes, then guffaws and topples over onto the floor, lost in a dizzying storm of hysterics.</p><p>“There’s really—really a—” He gasps for air. “—a fucking ghost in my apartment. <em> Shit.” </em></p><p>Through a sheen of laugh-tears, Donghyuck makes out four more words on the window:</p><p>
  <em> Is that a no? </em>
</p><p>Donghyuck dabs at the corners of his eyes and pushes himself upright. “Holy fuck. What do <em> you </em> think?” He coughs a few times. “It’s been a hell of a night. You didn’t help with that stunt in the mirror, either. You must’ve seen all my Johnny Suh paraphernalia, huh?”</p><p>There’s a silence, and the empty space in the apartment somehow manages to seem confused.</p><p>“Like, all my records and stuff. That was really mean, by the way. I don’t know what the ghost shape-shifting rules are or whatever, but I’m pretty sure that goes against, like...at least a moral code.” Donghyuck buries his face in his hands, scrubbing at his eyes. “How would you feel if some spirit dangled the crystal-clear image of your dead hero in front of your fucking face?”</p><p>He waits for a response but nothing comes for a long time. And then:</p><p>
  <em> What? </em>
</p><p>Donghyuck frowns. “What do you mean, ‘what’?”</p><p>
  <em> Shape-shifting? </em>
</p><p>“Don’t play dumb because I called you out. Shit, are you, like...a poltergeist or something?”</p><p>Another silence.</p><p>
  <em>That's just me. </em>
</p><p>Donghyuck’s heart skips twice.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Two messages, now:</p><p>
  <em> What do you mean </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘what’? </em>
</p><p>Donghyuck stares at the fading words on the window, one hand clenched in the material of his shirt. He calls up the image of Johnny in the mirror, Johnny Suh, behind him, towering over him. He swallows, but it’s dry.</p><p>“You...no. That can’t be. You can’t be.”</p><p>Words cease on the window.</p><p>The tremors are back in Donghyuck’s knees and hands and teeth, but he lifts himself up from the floor and sways over to the bathroom door. He closes his eyes, swept up again in the notion that this might be some fever dream, and he’ll wake up on Mark’s bedroom floor any minute. His hand finds the light switch and he flips it.</p><p>It’s true, then.</p><p>Johnny Suh greets him in the mirror’s reflection.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>the wait is over!! hoorah!!!</p><p>thank you so much to everyone who lovingly held my hand as I tore out my hair over this chapter, but especially to shark and erika, who read through its many evolutions. couldn't have done it without you!!</p><p>hope you enjoy &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Donghyuck doesn’t move. He’s aware he looks like an idiot; he can <em> see </em> himself actively looking like an idiot in the mirror with his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide. But Johnny Suh is still standing just behind him, that cold spot kissing the back of his neck where his t-shirt dips down, and Donghyuck doesn’t even bother trying to control the look of open shock that adorns his features.</p><p>“You’re kidding,” he croaks instead. “It’s really you?”</p><p>Donghyuck can’t help it, his voice breaks. His eyes itch with overuse as that lump rises in his throat again but when he shakes himself out of wonder to register the look on Johnny’s face, the tears shrink down once more.</p><p>Johnny is shaking his head.</p><p>“What do you mean?” Donghyuck asks. “You said...you said that was you. That <em> this </em> is you.”</p><p>Johnny purses his lips, thinking. Slowly, looking into Donghyuck’s eyes like he’s explaining something to a small child, he points to himself, then shrugs.</p><p>“You...”</p><p>He watches Johnny go through the motion again. Looking closer, there’s something unfamiliar about the way Johnny’s face moves through expressions; it’s like Donghyuck is watching some carbon copy of his idol just a portion shy of its secret ingredient.</p><p>It punches through Donghyuck’s chest like a cannonball.</p><p>“You don’t remember.”</p><p>Johnny’s mouth curves into an apologetic frown, and suddenly Donghyuck feels like he’s standing in front of a stranger. Or, at least, a stranger whom he knows nothing about.</p><p>“You don’t remember anything. <em> Anything?” </em></p><p>Johnny shakes his head. Donghyuck is speechless.</p><p>“But you saw—my—everything, my posters, my records, my goddamn signed copy of <em> Nocturnal </em> hung up above my fucking bed—that doesn’t bring <em> anything </em>back?”</p><p>Johnny’s eyebrows just curve up and up, and Donghyuck grasps at the last drops of Johnny’s persona as they slip through his fingers in real time. When they’re gone, one thing remains, and Donghyuck tumbles out of the bathroom and lunges for it where it sits on the couch.</p><p>“Of course,” Donghyuck breathes as he brings the jacket to the bathroom, “This belonged to you. I remember now, this belonged to you, I saw you wear it in person once—<em> this </em> must be what brought you here—”</p><p>But Johnny’s face is void of recognition. He’s beginning to look forlorn, and Donghyuck slowly lowers the jacket as he fights to part the thick clouds gathering just behind his forehead. His skin still buzzes at the contact, like it’s ready to spark.</p><p>On impulse, Donghyuck pulls the jacket around his shoulders. He puts his right arm through, then his left, both of which cover his hands by a few inches; it smells like an antique store but feels heavy with something else, something less like a force and more like an <em> emotion. </em> It’s potent, and fills Donghyuck’s head with dark colors.</p><p>“It’s been three years,” he says, transfixed.</p><p>He remembers, to the day. One foot in the street, Mark’s carpet. His own lungs threatening to burst as a pit as empty as deep space opened up in his stomach.</p><p>“I—you—I never got the chance to tell you,” Donghyuck begins, “how much I—I mean, you were, like, the only reason—”</p><p>He doesn’t get tongue-tied, not in this business; not when it’s his job to speak smoothly and capture hearts. But every word he’s rehearsed to himself late at night, every thought that he’d saved in the jar meant for his first time coming face-to-face with his idol immediately drops out of his head when he tries to look Johnny in the eye.</p><p><em> You made it bearable, </em> he wants to say. Fuck, he wants to tell his whole life story; he knows Johnny’s, he knows the details and what slipped through the cracks between the lines of his songs. He wants to tell Johnny something stupid, like, <em> you made me want to write music, </em> or, <em> I copied the way you throw your head back between verses onstage. </em> But it comes out all chopped up and turned around as he stands there like a fool wearing a jacket that’s too big for him to fill.</p><p>“—you’re one of my favorite lyricists of all time—well, of course you’re not <em> just </em> a lyricist, your counterpoint in “Sharing Smoke” is fucking mind-blowing—I actually used it as an example in one of my theory classes once—anyway—the way you, um, your words? They’re so <em> sharp </em>, like—well, not sharp, that’s not what I meant—I mean that, like, you sharpen them down so that—um—”</p><p>Donghyuck swallows a breath, one hand drifting over his sternum. He’s tripping over himself, his words like a record needle skipping over the same scratch, and he can’t stop them from coming.</p><p>“—never mind. I just—you’re such a huge inspiration for me, and for so many other young musicians—oh, <em> fuck, </em> I must look like a total weirdo with your face plastered all over my apartment, I’m sorry—but your music has meant so much to me for so many years—I actually, uh—I didn’t lose my virginity to one of your songs, but I listened to one after—”</p><p>He slaps a hand over his mouth. “—Fuck. Shit.”</p><p>The silence following such catastrophic noise is deafening to say the least, but it’s worse when Donghyuck remembers that it’s still on him to do the talking. </p><p>“I didn’t mean for that to actually come out of my mouth,” he says, disbelieving. “Sorry. I usually, um...I mean, I’m <em> not </em> usually...this...”</p><p>Johnny looks even more like a carbon copy of himself as he stands there stiffly, confusion half-frozen on his face as some tentative expression of gratitude leaks through. He looks like he’s never experienced it in his life—afterlife?—and <em> fuck, </em>as far as Donghyuck knows, he hasn’t.</p><p>Donghyuck’s shoulders ache. He is Atlas and Johnny’s jacket is the heavens.</p><p>“I guess I should introduce myself,” Donghyuck says. “My name is Donghyuck. I’m...a <em> fan.” </em></p><p>A sunbeam of fondness breaks through Johnny’s bewilderment, and Donghyuck gets a little lightheaded when Johnny’s smile is directed his way.</p><p>“You were a musician,” Donghyuck continues. “A really, really great one. I’ve seen you sell out every show you played here in L.A., easy—people talk about you non-stop in the industry, about how you changed the trajectory of songwriting for your generation of indie lyricists. <em> My </em>generation. God, everyone I knew in music school looked up to you.”</p><p>Johnny smiles again, tilting his head and pointing at Donghyuck. He mimes playing a guitar.</p><p>“Oh, yeah,” Donghyuck replies, cheeks heating. “I play. I write, too, actually. But I’m nowhere near your level. My best friend—”</p><p>Donghyuck nearly chokes on the phrase, throat fluttering around it. He swallows thickly.</p><p>“He, ah—he’s the brains, lyrically.”</p><p>And Johnny’s looking at him sideways, now; Donghyuck couldn’t catch the slip-up quick enough. It’s surreal—usually, he’d be crawling over to his record player to put on his worn vinyl copy of<em> Nocturnal, </em> Mark’s smile or voice or walk on loop as Johnny’s words made the ache sweeter. But Johnny is standing—if ghosts can really <em> stand </em>—behind him now, and instead of sweetness all the ache mingles with is regret.</p><p>“He—tonight, he—” Donghyuck tries to force himself to speak but for the first time all night, the words shrivel up on his tongue. It’s different when he can feel Johnny’s eyes on him; Donghyuck always cursed his anonymity from the other side of a screen but right now his whole body feels raw, like an exposed nerve.</p><p>What would his seventeen-year-old self say?</p><p>That Donghyuck spent so many nights alone with every piece of Johnny he could scavenge, projecting scenes onto the inside of his skull that only served to feed the hunger growing in him. With all of his practice, Donghyuck should at least be used to the idea of Johnny in the same room as him, but it’s just <em> too much, </em> and a tidal wave of old emotion stops up the space in Donghyuck’s throat.</p><p>He doesn’t know how he managed to forget this feeling.</p><p>Of course, he loved Mark, and he still loves Mark; that insistent tug in his gut is an ever-present reminder and it aches thickly, viscously. But this feeling is not love. This feeling is different.</p><p>This feeling is Donghyuck on his childhood bed, pressed down by an immovable weight. Wanting Johnny was always suffocating, asphyxiating, powerful enough to crush his lungs into powder; still, Donghyuck would surround himself with photographs and torture himself with imagined conversations while trying to fall asleep. Then he would dream of Johnny handing him an apple in the grocery store before waking up and starting four new songs, all of them angry and melancholy and about someone much older and taller than he was. </p><p> Nothing comes close to this, Donghyuck thinks as he stares down the most unreachable object of his affection to date. Nothing can touch the feeling of complete and total longing. How could he forget such a thing?</p><p>“Sorry,” he says, eyes lowered. He’s not sure which mistake he’s apologizing for. “Shit, I—I can’t even—”</p><p>He presses down Mark’s name on his tongue until it’s a pill, then swallows it. He swallows Johnny’s name too, while he’s at it; he’s hurdling off a cliff and desperate for something to cling to.</p><p>“I have work tomorrow morning,” he says when he’s collected himself. “Would you mind, um...?”</p><p>When he catches Johnny’s expression in the mirror, it’s heavy with worry. Donghyuck smiles with what little of his mouth he can manage, hoping to throw Johnny off his scent, but Johnny’s frown only deepens. Still, he ducks his head and leaves the room.</p><p>Donghyuck does what he can manage of his nighttime routine before exiting the bathroom sluggishly, weighed down, and dropping the jacket back on the couch. He knows Johnny is in the living room, but he doesn’t know where exactly; he turns off the light before taking off his shirt.</p><p>In the dark, his voice comes back.</p><p>“This is so fucked up,” he whispers. “Everything is so fucked up.”</p><p>It’s hoarse and nasally, evidence of the beating his body has been through.</p><p>“Not only are <em> you </em> here,” he continues, “but my fucking best friend left me. And I told him to. What kind of idiot does that?”</p><p>He’s not asking for an answer. He can’t even see Johnny anymore.</p><p>“And what kind of idiot gets upset at him for actually leaving? Shit.” Donghyuck swipes at his nose. “No wonder he fucking left. I’m a mess. Y’know what? It was a big fat lie when I said I could write without him. I haven’t even touched my guitar in a whole week.”</p><p>In the silence, Donghyuck feels insignificant. He lets out a breath.</p><p>“Sorry. I’ll shut up.” He swallows. “Do you, um. Do you mind going away for a bit?”</p><p>What a stupid question. Of course he can’t. If Johnny could leave, he wouldn’t still be here, watching Donghyuck swing like a pendulum between different hysterias.</p><p>“You know what, never mind, I just. Um.”</p><p>There’s a cool breeze that sweeps through the room in the direction of the front door, and when Donghyuck looks on after it, he thinks he sees a faint outline phase through the door in the dark. At once, the buzz in Donghyuck’s ears that’s continued since he set foot in the apartment dies down.</p><p>“Thanks,” Donghyuck says to the room, truly empty for the first time since he returned home today. He turns over, exhausted, and tries to fall asleep.</p><p> </p><p>///</p><p> </p><p>“Hyuck,” Mark says.</p><p>Donghyuck is underwater with his eyes open, perhaps in a lake or a pool. No, not a pool, a bathtub; Mark leans over the enamel with his sleeves rolled up and eyes Donghyuck worriedly. His hair is that crispy shade of yellow-blonde it was in high school, and, come to think of it, his face is softer around the edges. This is Mark from three years ago, younger than Donghyuck is now.</p><p>“It’s you,” Donghyuck tells him, watching bubbles rise from his mouth and burst at the surface of the water. “I missed you.”</p><p>Mark shakes his head and frowns, tapping his earlobe. “Can’t hear you. Sorry.”</p><p>“I missed you,” Donghyuck says again. “I hope you hung out with other me today.”</p><p>“Still can’t hear you,” Mark replies. “Listen, I have to tell you something important.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Donghyuck.” Mark shifts a little, expression serious like he’s about to deliver a speech to the fucking United Nations. “Hyuck, I...I think I’m in love with you.”</p><p>Donghyuck feels something inside him split, like the Earth’s plates spreading apart, and hot magma fills his body from where the divide occurs. Distractedly, he notices a few feathers of blood in the water. His nose is bleeding.</p><p>“There’s no need to be nervous,” Donghyuck murmurs. “You know I love you back.”</p><p>Mark smiles and Donghyuck has no idea whether his voice has finally managed to breach the surface of the water or not, but it doesn’t matter, because Mark is leaning down with his pretty eyelashes and his teeth and the mole on his cheek and Donghyuck closes his eyes as the greatest moment of his life happens in slow motion.</p><p>There’s a hand that fists in his shirt as Mark kisses him, pulling him up out of the water. He doesn’t open his eyes when cool air hits his skin because Mark’s mouth doesn’t stop; it’s insistent against his, bold. Mark’s kissing him like a player. Like he knows he’ll make Donghyuck think he’s the most important person in the world.</p><p>“Mark,” Donghyuck breathes against plush lips, hoping that the air will carry his words now. A puff of air hits his cheek and he realizes that Mark is <em> laughing, </em> except the tamber is a little too deep—</p><p>“Donghyuck,” says a voice that’s definitely not Mark’s, and when Donghyuck’s eyes fly open Johnny Suh gazes back at him through lowered lids. “Who are you talking about?”</p><p>Donghyuck wakes with a gasp, one hand clutching at his chest. His heart is pounding and those familiar dark spots dance around the edge of his vision; there’s a dull throb just behind his eyes that makes his stomach churn. He squeezes his eyes shut as he takes a breath. He hopes he didn’t say Johnny’s name in his sleep, because the buzz is back in his ears, and the electric charge singing in the air tells him he’s not alone.</p><p>“Fuck,” he says. Mark’s innocent grin is still fresh at the front of his mind, but before he can do or say anything else—</p><p>“You all right?”</p><p>Donghyuck <em> screams. </em></p><p>Johnny is sitting in the chair in the corner of the room—or, rather, his outline is. He’s barely visible, just a suggestion of a form, but he’s there, eyes wide as he looks at Donghyuck with concern.</p><p>“Why are—how—”</p><p>“I don’t know either,” Johnny says, holding his hands up as if to placate Donghyuck like a wild animal. “Don’t freak out. This is new to me, too.”</p><p>“Holy fuck.” Donghyuck backs up until he’s sitting against the wall, knees pulled to his chest. “Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck.”</p><p>“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you.”</p><p>“You can <em> talk now?” </em> Donghyuck rubs at his eyes. “This is it. I’m crazy. My dead idol is sitting in my chair. <em> Talking </em> to me. What the fuck.”</p><p>Johnny sighs, lowering his hands. “Oh, I promise you. This is real.”</p><p>“How can you be real?”</p><p>“You’re gonna have to take my word for it. Look.” Johnny gestures to the jacket on the couch. “I don’t know where that came from, but when you found it, something clearly shifted.”</p><p>Donghyuck shakes his head, eyes unfocused. “It didn’t seem as real when you couldn’t talk. When you were—” He takes a long look at translucent-Johnny. “How <em> are </em> you showing up like that?”</p><p>“I don’t know. Until last night, I hadn’t ever been conscious. If...you could call <em> this </em> conscious.”</p><p>Donghyuck stares. “So, you’ve just been...hanging out...incorporeal...for <em> three years?” </em></p><p>“I don’t know.” Johnny sighs. “I don’t know how long it’s been. Time moves differently when you don’t have a body.”</p><p>Donghyuck can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the body that sits before him now. It’s unreal, it’s another dream; he’s going to be pulled from the bathtub any moment now and wake with water in his lungs.</p><p>“So, wait. Let me get this straight.” He points at Johnny. “<em> You.” </em> He points to the jacket. “Are somehow attached to <em> that. </em>And when I bought it—”</p><p>“Something changed.”</p><p>Donghyuck lowers his hand. “Yeah. That much is clear.”</p><p>“Look, I don’t know how any of this works,” Johnny says. “I hadn’t even considered the possibility that I had a life before this.”</p><p>Donghyuck’s heart wasn’t made to be broken and put back together this many times in rapid succession. It’s leaking blood like oil, all over the bruises on his knees from the night before.</p><p>“Well, you did. I can’t even tell you how much you did.”</p><p>Johnny’s face softens. “I wish I could remember.” He smiles. “Maybe I could’ve told you what you wanted to hear from me.”</p><p>Something pinches, tight and cold, in Donghyuck’s stomach.</p><p>“It’s not right.”</p><p>“What’s not right?”</p><p>“That you don’t remember anything.” He shakes his head. “You, of all people.”</p><p>Johnny exhales a laugh. “I’m...glad you think so, I guess.”</p><p>“It’s really not.”</p><p>The room goes still. A wild rhythm starts fading into Donghyuck’s head, frenzied, urgent, and he suddenly feels much bigger than his body.</p><p>“I can help you.”</p><p>Johnny’s brow furrows. “What?”</p><p>“I can help you get your memories back.”</p><p>“And how do you plan to do that?”</p><p>Donghyuck shakes his head. “I don’t know. But if I could at least <em> show </em> you, maybe...maybe that’s the reason you’re here. Maybe I need to help you remember how great you are.”</p><p>Johnny’s mouth is parted, stuck open as an uncertain cloud rolls over his face. “I’m...not so sure about that. I don’t know if there’s any reason why I’m here.”</p><p>“Even if there isn’t.” Donghyuck takes a steadying breath. “You’ve given so much to me. I think it’s only fair that I try to give back.”</p><p>Johnny takes another breath like he’s going to say something, then pauses. Slowly, he closes his mouth.</p><p>“Please,” Donghyuck says.</p><p>Donghyuck tries not to ask for much. When it comes down to it, really, he hasn’t asked for nearly anything—excluding bites off his friends’ plates, and a puppy when he was little, and maybe Mark’s forgiveness, once or twice, when he’d done something especially despicable.</p><p>But this time, Donghyuck isn’t just asking for himself. He can <em> feel </em>it.</p><p>Johnny nods, once, twice. “Okay.”</p><p>“Okay?”</p><p>“Okay. Yes.”</p><p>Donghyuck sags in relief. “Thank you.”</p><p>Johnny smiles again, that same curious warmth shedding light on his features. Then, before Donghyuck can say anything else, he gestures to something on Donghyuck’s bedside table.</p><p>“Is there a reason your phone is doing that?”</p><p>Donghyuck whips his head around to see his emergency alarm going off, the one with <em> FUCKING DUMBASS </em> emblazoned on its notification screen. He nearly swallows his tongue.</p><p><em> “Shit!” </em> he exclaims, crashing to the floor and stumbling over to his dresser. “I have to go—fuck, what am I gonna do with you?”</p><p>“Hey—what—where are you going?”</p><p>“Work! Dammit—!” Donghyuck grabs his work bag from where it hangs on the bathroom doorknob. He hesitates for a moment, eyeing the jacket.</p><p>“Wha—”</p><p>Johnny is cut off when Donghyuck grabs it and hurdles into the hallway, careening toward the stairs. He practically yanks his bike free from the rack in the garage, then wheels it out onto the sidewalk and swings his leg over the seat, barely missing a trash can.</p><p>“What the hell are you doing?” Johnny says, next to him. Donghyuck doesn’t dare look over but he feels Johnny’s presence gliding along at his side.</p><p>“Well,” Donghyuck gasps in return. “I couldn’t just leave you there!”</p><p>“You probably could’ve!”</p><p>“Too late now!”</p><p>Donghyuck races down the street and nearly falls off his bike when he reaches the cafe. He’s dizzy and lightheaded when he locks up but still manages to make it inside in one piece, avoiding Seokjin’s eyes on the way to the back.</p><p>“Okay,” he says as he hangs up the jacket. “Just—be chill. I don’t think anyone else can see you, so we should be safe.”</p><p>“What am I supposed to do back here?”</p><p>“I don’t know!” Donghyuck hisses as he slips on his apron. “But I have to get moving before someone sees me talking to myself!”</p><p>“Hold on—”</p><p>Donghyuck throws one final apology over his shoulder before bursting through the door.</p><p>“Jeez,” Renjun says when he finally arrives out front, sweaty, disheveled, and still in the middle of tying his apron. “Late night?”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“You look exhausted.”</p><p>Renjun is extremely put-together, as always, the red clips in his hair color-coordinated with the stripes on his shirt. He finishes whisking the matcha in front of him and pours steamed milk into it before placing it on the bar, shouting out an order number.</p><p>“I,” Donghyuck starts, then aborts the sentence. He’s still breathing hard from the bike ride. “It’s been a hell of a week. But I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”</p><p>Renjun scoffs. “How can you expect me not to worry about it when you, Donghyuck Lee, are the one telling me not to worry about it?”</p><p>“Sorry, I know I haven’t been myself lately. I promise, I’ll—”</p><p>“—not what I meant.” Renjun sighs, taking him by the shoulders. “I already gave you my two cents yesterday about the whole thing. Other than that, I don’t care if you quit music altogether and join a fucking traveling circus.”</p><p>“Language,” Seokjin says as he breezes by in all his managerial swiftness, and Renjun shoots daggers at the back of his head. He turns back to Donghyuck.</p><p>“Just...<em> please, </em> take care of yourself. Be careful. You’ve been doing so good lately.”</p><p>Donghyuck smiles, weakly. “Thanks, Renjun. I know. And I will.”</p><p>“Try not to keep all your shit in, all right? You’ll explode.”</p><p>“Yes, mom.”</p><p>Renjun squeezes his shoulders and lets go as another order ticket prints from the machine. Donghyuck adjusts his apron around his neck and cracks his knuckles against the counter, already glancing at the clock.</p><p>“And maybe try to get some sleep once in a while?”</p><p>Donghyuck snorts as he pulls on a pair of gloves. “Yeah, right. Good one.”</p><p>The day slogs by as Donghyuck thinks of what he’s hiding in the back room. He makes coffee and sells cake and his heart flutters every time he remembers that Johnny Suh is there, in the building, existing at the exact same time as Donghyuck pushes the register shut with shaky fingers. During a bathroom break, he gets a text from Jaemin:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> nana (3:47) </em>
</p><p>
  <em> u get off at 6 right </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>                                          me (3:47) </em>
</p><p>
  <em>                                          yeah why </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> nana (3:47) </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ???? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> open mic at the castaway </em>
</p><p>
  <em> i thought we were going </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Shit,” Donghyuck mutters aloud. He agreed to this plan last week, before—well, before <em> everything. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>                                         me (3:49) </em>
</p><p>
  <em>                                             ughhh </em>
</p><p>
  <em>                           can we rain check </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> nana (3:49) </em>
</p><p>
  <em> jeno wants to see you play </em>
</p><p>
  <em> you promised </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>                                       me (3:50) </em>
</p><p>
  <em>                                                 no </em>
</p><p>
  <em> nana (3:50) </em>
</p><p>
  <em> please 🥺🥺 </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>                                       me (3:50) </em>
</p><p>
  <em>                                                NO </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> nana (3:50) </em>
</p><p>
  <em> PLEASE </em>
</p><p>
  <em> i don’t want him to be mopey </em>
</p><p>
  <em> do YOU want him to be mopey?? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>                                       me (3:50) </em>
</p><p>
  <em>                                       no!! i just </em>
</p><p>
  <em>                                               ugh </em>
</p><p>
  <em>                                        i’m tired </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> nana (3:51) </em>
</p><p><em> we’ll cheer u up </em> <em> ( ˘ ³˘)♥ </em></p><p>
  <em> cmon hyuck </em>
</p><p>
  <em> i’m picking u up at 6 like it or not </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>                                       me (3:52) </em>
</p><p>
  <em>                       what about my bike </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> nana (3:52) </em>
</p><p>
  <em> did u forget that i’m a bad bitch now </em>
</p><p>
  <em> jeno bought me a bike rack </em>
</p><p>
  <em> see u after work u big baby </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Donghyuck knows there’s no point in responding, so he pockets his phone and returns to the floor.</p><p>At the end of the day, when he finally pushes through the door to the back and loosens his apron, Johnny is waiting for him.</p><p>“Hi,” Donghyuck says, guiltily.</p><p>“Hello,” Johnny replies. He’s perched on the tall shelf lining the hallway, one long leg crossed over the other. “Nice of you to drop in.”</p><p>“Sorry. To be fair, you would’ve been alone at my place all day anyway.”</p><p>Johnny floats down until he’s right in front of Donghyuck, who fights hard to stay still.</p><p>“I’m teasing. It wasn’t that bad.” He smiles. “I’ve had a lot of practice waiting around.”</p><p>“Well,” Donghyuck says, checking his phone, where another text from Jaemin is waiting. “Hate to break it to you, but we can’t go home yet. I have another thing I can’t get out of.”</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>Donghyuck grabs the jacket from where it hangs and pulls it on, steadying himself as dizziness takes over for a moment.</p><p>“Fuck,” he murmurs, “still not used to that.” He looks at Johnny over his shoulder and heaves a sigh. “C’mon, our ride’s waiting.”</p><p> </p><p>///</p><p> </p><p>“I forgot my guitar,” he announces, later, from the backseat of Jaemin’s car. It wasn’t technically on purpose, although he’d sooner shoot himself in the foot than tell Jaemin what the real reason was.</p><p>“Mine’s still in the back,” Jeno replies. “You can borrow it.”</p><p>Donghyuck slumps. “I forgot...my will to live.”</p><p>“Oh, none of that.” Jeno turns around all the way in the passenger’s seat, his hand clutching the headrest. “Work wasn’t that bad, was it?”</p><p>“I thought it wasn’t a breakup,” Jaemin mutters, and Donghyuck shoots the back of his head a nasty glare. He can feel Johnny’s inquisitive gaze burning holes into the side of his head but he refuses to acknowledge it.</p><p>“It’s <em> not, </em> for your <em> information. </em>” He sighs, crossing his arms. “Seokjin just yelled at me for being late today. I’m grouchy and I don’t feel like playing.”</p><p>“Well, too bad. We’re already here.”</p><p>They pull into the parking lot of the cafe, lit from within and already teeming with people hoping to wedge their way onto the open mic list.</p><p>“Fuck,” Donghyuck says. “It’ll be two hours before I even get onstage.”</p><p>“C’mon,” Jeno replies. “It’s been forever since I heard you play.”</p><p>“Me ‘n Mark played for you, like, two weeks ago.”</p><p>“Yeah, but that was in Jaem’s living room. I want the full experience.”</p><p>“It’s good for you, Hyuck.” Jaemin leans on the console with one arm. “A little show always makes you feel better.”</p><p>Donghyuck feels his frown deepen. Jaemin’s right; nothing can compare to the flood of electricity that comes with stepping offstage after a set, or the pulse of warmth at a post-show compliment. But that’s only half of it—the other half is Mark, sweaty from the stage lights, throwing him that heart-stopping grin that says <em> we fucking killed it. </em></p><p>He catches sight of Johnny’s knee shifting in the seat beside him.</p><p>It seems like all Johnny does is <em> look </em> at him, like an equation, like a car wreck. Donghyuck’s used to being looked at like that, but when it comes from Johnny the numbness is suddenly gone and his cheeks burn with something like discomfort. He clears his throat.</p><p>“Fine,” he says, focusing on the lights strung up outside the cafe until they become blurry dots. “But don’t complain when the third bad standup act still expects a laugh.”</p><p>Jeno mimes zipping his lips. Jaemin cheers and exits the car while Donghyuck reaches into the hatchback, breathing a sigh of relief when the familiar feel of guitar case plastic hits his hands.</p><p>“Damn, it really is packed tonight.” Jaemin whistles as he looks around the cafe. Donghyuck leans on Jeno’s guitar and counts the familiar faces in the crowd—one in particular sticks out.</p><p>“Hey!” Sungchan says as he comes closer, weaving through the mash of bodies. “Donghyuck! It’s been a minute.”</p><p>“Hey, yeah.” He pulls Sungchan in for a half-hug. “Sorry I haven’t been in touch. Things have been crazy.”</p><p>“It’s no biggie.” Sungchan nods to the guitar. “Where’s Mark? Are you guys going acoustic tonight?”</p><p>Donghyuck feels both Jaemin and Jeno’s eyes on him as he rubs at the back of his neck.</p><p>“No, ah, we actually—well, about that—we—”</p><p>“Hyuck’s doing a solo set.”</p><p>Donghyuck lets out a small sigh of relief at Jaemin’s interjection, then nods at Sungchan.</p><p>“Yeah. Just me.”</p><p>“Oh!” Sungchan smiles brightly, nodding in that animated, tall boy way that has several girls looking over with hearts in their eyes. “That’s cool. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you solo.”</p><p>“He’s great,” Jeno says, before Donghyuck can get another word out. Sungchan’s smile turns softer as he ducks his head.</p><p>“Well, I know that.”</p><p>Donghyuck lets out a choked laugh. “Thanks. Um, actually, I do have something to talk to you about. Related to the joint show we were thinking about doing with you guys...?”</p><p>“Oh, yeah, no problem!” Sungchan nods at a table at the edge of the room. “I’m sitting over there if you want to come talk after signups.”</p><p>“Okay, I’ll meet you.”</p><p>Sungchan waves goodbye to the three of them and then retreats to his table, oblivious to the way several pairs of eyes follow him there. Jaemin sighs.</p><p>“He’s such a cutie.”</p><p>Jeno smiles. “He is.”</p><p>“Isn’t he cute, Hyuck?”</p><p>“I—” Donghyuck doesn’t know where Johnny is, exactly, so he looks at his feet to avoid locking eyes with him. “Yeah.”</p><p>Here’s the thing: Donghyuck has had his fair share of <em> cute boys. </em></p><p>“Don’t you ever get tired of it?” Mark had asked when Donghyuck met up with him one night, still gross and half-flushed from a hookup. It was a little over a year ago, probably, back when they were looking at apartments together; Mark had come straight from his third performance as just <em> Mark Lee. </em></p><p>“The hell is that supposed to mean?”</p><p>Mark scoffed. “It doesn’t <em> mean </em> anything, I’m just curious. Like, do you actually like any of these dudes?”</p><p>“Well, that’s not the point, is it?”</p><p>“I dunno.” Mark looked into his eyes then, just for a second. “Is it?”</p><p>Donghyuck had looked back, angry. He was angry a lot around then.</p><p>“No,” he said. “It’s just sex.”</p><p>“Yeah. Okay.”</p><p>“Don’t fucking give me that.”</p><p>“Give you what? I’m not—”</p><p>It’s not their first fight, not by a long shot. But it opens a cut that Donghyuck will keep pouring salt into for months, trying to drown out the sound of his best friend’s independence with other people’s bodies.</p><p>“So,” Donghyuck says when he sits down across from Sungchan, leaning Jeno’s guitar against the table.</p><p>“So.” Sungchan frowns. “You look serious.”</p><p>Donghyuck pauses for a moment, caught by the way Sungchan’s lower lip pokes out a little. He looks like he’s half-joking, but there’s a touch of genuine concern in the wrinkle of his brow.</p><p>“Kinda.” Donghyuck tries to crack a smile. “It’s about Mark.”</p><p>Sungchan’s concern deepens and Donghyuck catches Johnny’s outline settle in his peripheral, glowing softly like he’s supposed to notice it. Donghyuck adjusts the jacket on his shoulders.</p><p>“Uh...we decided to put the band on hold. Maybe indefinitely.”</p><p>“Oh, shit.” Any trace of playfulness is gone from Sungchan’s face in an instant, and Donghyuck winces as inwardly as he can.</p><p>“It’s fine, like, it was a mutual thing, but...yeah. I’m afraid a joint show isn’t going to work out right now.”</p><p>“Fuck, dude, I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Really, it’s okay.” Donghyuck uncrosses his legs, then crosses them again. He wonders if he’ll ever get used to the feeling of being watched. “It’s cool.”</p><p>Sungchan doesn’t look convinced. Actually, he looks like he wants to reach across the table and take Donghyuck’s hand, and Donghyuck practically feels himself pale at the thought.</p><p>“Um, I should probably get back,” he blurts. “But it was good running into you. I’ll see you around?”</p><p>Sungchan nods, but Donghyuck doesn’t miss the disappointment that flashes over his face.</p><p>“Yeah, see you. Hey, good luck tonight.”</p><p>Donghyuck smiles. “Thanks.”</p><p>He lets out a slow, controlled breath as he makes his way back to where Jeno and Jaemin sit, the latter wiggling his eyebrows.</p><p>“Shut up, it’s not like that.”</p><p>“Didn’t say anything.”</p><p>“Jaem,” Jeno warns, nudging his with his elbow. Jaemin falls silent just as the MC takes the stage.</p><p>Donghyuck is right; the third bad standup act really does expect a laugh. Jeno gives him a polite chuckle, at least, because he’s kind, and considerate, and nothing like Jaemin, who simply raises his left eyebrow higher with each joke that doesn’t land. Donghyuck wonders if Johnny remembers what open mics are like, but doesn’t search the crowd to find him.</p><p>It’s only when Donghyuck steps into the hot glow of the stagelights that he feels, for the first time all day, comfortably alone.</p><p>“Hi,” he says into the mic, “My name’s Haechan. I’m gonna play a couple songs for you tonight.”</p><p>The words come out too short—he’s used to Mark’s voice next to his, filling in the spaces. Donghyuck takes a breath, rocks back, then forth, then strums the opening chords.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Your mom and dad said </em>
</p><p>
  <em> That I could sleep in your bed </em>
</p><p>
  <em> When I took a trip back home </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘Cause the house is getting sold </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He smiles through the first verse. It’s Mark’s. Donghyuck remembers the hiss of appreciation that escaped through his teeth when Mark had first uttered the words.</p><p>“I think this is the one,” Mark had said after they played it through for the first time.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Don’t you think so?”</p><p>Donghyuck can’t recall his answer; his mind was too busy trying to figure out why the lyrics felt like a prophecy.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> And the school is getting torn down </em>
</p><p>
  <em> They’re putting up a new town </em>
</p><p>
  <em> With a couple cardboard cutouts </em>
</p><p>
  <em> That look just like you </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think living together is a good idea.”</p><p>Donghyuck frowned. “What? Why?”</p><p>“Hyuck,” Mark said, long-suffering. “You know why. Our...<em> lifestyles </em> are, like, really different right now.”</p><p>“O...kay.” Donghyuck resisted another biting comment. “But why should that change anything? We’ve been planning on this for—”</p><p>“I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Here come the years </em>
</p><p>
  <em> They’re gonna swallow us whole </em>
</p><p>
  <em> We’ll call each other names </em>
</p><p>
  <em> We’ve either borrowed or stolen </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Donghyuck? Fuck, <em> shit, </em>can you hear me?”</p><p>Donghyuck doesn’t remember much of this part, but he remembers Mark’s voice. He remembers the material of Mark’s shirt when it touched his cheek.</p><p>“No one’s fucking called 911 yet? Are you fucking serious? Look at him, he’s—”</p><p>The ceiling of the ambulance looked mint green and sickly, and Donghyuck cried for the whole ride.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> And your mom and dad said </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I could sleep in your bed </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But I told them I’d just </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Take the couch instead </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Donghyuck finishes the song with his eyes closed.</p><p>Applause floods the cafe and he murmurs a <em> thank you </em> into the mic before stepping back from it, fighting a dread in his stomach that’s had roots there for longer than he can recall. He gathers himself, plays a Shakey Graves cover and gets the hell off the stage.</p><p>“You’re amazing,” Jeno coos when he returns to their table. Jaemin high-fives him and Donghyuck plays along, but he’s in a daze.</p><p>Behind them, Johnny leans against a tabletop. There’s something familiar seeping through the cracks in his expression, like a memory opening up, like he’s on the edge of a word he’d forgotten the taste of. But that’s not the only thing that makes Donghyuck’s heart pound.</p><p>He looks at Johnny and he realizes that for the first time, after years of pressing his heart close to what Johnny had revealed of his, Johnny is <em> seeing </em> him.</p><p>“Haven’t heard that one in a while,” Jaemin says when they walk back to the car. Jeno’s carrying his guitar while Donghyuck strides along with his hands in his pockets.</p><p>“It was the first song that came to mind,” Donghyuck replies. “For some reason.”</p><p>“I remember the first time you guys performed it,” Jeno adds. “At the Gala?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>The three of them fall silent. A siren wails, distant, a constant of the city.</p><p>“I always kinda thought people were joking when they said high school was simpler.” Donghyuck huffs a laugh. “But they weren’t.”</p><p>Jeno smiles. “Just because it was simpler, doesn’t mean it was better.”</p><p>They pile into the car and Jaemin puts on Peach Pit like he always does when he wants to cheer Donghyuck up. With the windows down, Jaemin lets loose a loud whoop and takes off down the street, startling his passengers into laughter.</p><p>“Could’ve told me you were <em> good,” </em> Johnny murmurs as Jeno and Jaemin sing along in the front seat. Donghyuck hazards a glance at him and finds Johnny smiling.</p><p>“You should hear the full version,” Donghyuck replies, quietly. “I’m only half the band.”</p><p>“I liked it with just you.”</p><p>It makes Donghyuck smile in return, looking away as he feels himself blush. He doesn’t remember ever hearing those words before.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><a href="https://twitter.com/bambiirouge">twt</a> <br/><a href="https://curiouscat.qa/bambiirouge">cc</a><br/>as always, thank you for reading! a comment would mean the world!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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